CRITIC'S NOTEBOOK

CRITIC'S NOTEBOOK; Revisiting Off Broadway Perennials

By PETER MARKS

Published: November 27, 1998

Absolutely convinced that I was going to be an audience of one, I arrived at ''The Fantasticks'' in the Village a little early. My thinking was, if the box office had tangible evidence of a bona fide ticketholder, the show positively had to go on.

Pardon my lack of faith, but it was almost impossible to believe that virtually any viable life form on the planet had not already paid a visit to this cozy art-house musical, which has run at the Sullivan Street Playhouse for, gulp, 38 years and, as of Dec. 18, fully 16,000 performances. As it had opened six months before John F. Kennedy was elected President, one had to wonder: What claim could it conceivably make to having an untapped market? Realistically, how many Himalayan sherpas, Trappist monks or Antarctic climatologists will be trolling for twofers at the TKTS booth in the coming years?

I came in out of the rain on a recent Friday evening and took my seat in the cramped middle of the back row; although reviewers ordinarily inform a producer about when they will attend, I decided to come unannounced. And when I looked around the theater, I saw the oddest thing. People. Lots and lots of people. New Yorkers, out-of-towners, teen-age girls, middle-aged couples, you name it, filing in and filling three-quarters of the auditorium.

Who were they? I knew why I was there; why were they? The lights went down before I could absorb the shock. But as soon as that plucky piano overture commenced -- ''BUM-bum. Bum BUM BUM BUM. Ba-da BUM BUM'' -- I had the answer: A big bunch of softies is what they were, and they had come to the right place. Despite advancing age, ''The Fantasticks,'' it turns out, can not only still put up a charming front, but it appears able to renew itself. With its capable cast, no-frills set, romantic score and unabashed celebration of innocence, the musical retains the power to overwhelm cynicism with lyricism, to make itself, in fact, seem eternally young.

In the stable of Off Broadway warhorses, ''The Fantasticks'' may be the eldest, but it's far from the only senior citizen. ''Perfect Crime'' at the Duffy Theater in Times Square has been running since 1987; Tony 'n' Tina have been getting married in raucous interactive ceremonies at various Manhattan locations for a decade, and ''Blue Man Group'' has been spewing disgusting fluids at audiences in the Astor Place Theater on Lafayette Street for seven years.

These and other multiyear phenoms, like ''Stomp,'' ''Forbidden Broadway'' and ''I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change,'' have become such permanent fixtures that Off Broadway -- where plays have a reputation of coming and going like commuters through the turnstiles -- now is home to nearly as many long-running hits as Broadway. And like the big Broadway musicals that run and run, these Off Broadway perennials depend more and more on an alien audience pool -- the tourist trade -- that traditionally avoided the city's smaller theaters.

Like an overscheduled medical resident, I recently made the rounds of 7 of the 10 Off Broadway shows that have been running a year or more (actually one, ''Shakespeare's R & J,'' is only just approaching its first birthday) to check their pulses, to assess the effects of the passage of time. I opted not to revisit three: ''Tony 'n' Tina's Wedding'' and ''Late Nite Catechism,'' because, as interactive shows, they are by nature different every night, and ''Perfect Crime,'' because this convoluted thriller was such a stupefying mess when I sat through it a year ago, the thought of returning felt like asking for a second dose of measles.

Overall, for the shows I visited, production standards remained surprisingly high, even for ''The Fantasticks,'' which would have every reason to devolve into a wheezing basket case. Some, like ''Stomp,'' the dance-and-rhythm extravaganza that sets the beat to garbage-can lids, kitchen sinks and brooms, are remarkably fresh, while others, like ''Blue Man Group,'' the witty, cerebral prankfest, have gone just a tad stale: after seven years in the East Village, some new tricks would be welcome up its slightly tattered sleeve.

In virtually every production, however, there was the pleasure of discovering, or rediscovering, an exceptional performer, as with Bryan Batt in ''Forbidden Broadway Cleans Up Its Act!'' or Adam Grupper in ''I Love You, You're Perfect,'' or Allison Munn and Eric Meyersfield, as the Girl and Boy in ''The Fantasticks,'' or the three new cast members, Matt Dill, Jeremy Peter Johnson and Caesar Samayoa, in ''R & J.'' Here then, in approximate descending order of enjoyment, is a quick excursion back into the heavily charted territory of the long runs:

'Forbidden Broadway Cleans Up Its Act!'

Will the American Theater Wing ever swallow its pride and give Gerard Alessandrini the Tony he deserves? No one, in truth, is more slavishly devoted to the Broadway legend than the creator of this bottomlessly entertaining parody revue, which just unveiled its new edition at the Stardust Theater. Mr. Alessandrini's targets should all plead with him to keep them in the show, as a ''Forbidden Broadway'' knock is confirmation that one still moves with enough force to make the needle move on the theater district's seismometer.

Bryan Batt, one of the show's quartet of singing parodists, comes into his own in this revised production, which by virtue of some scrumptious new material does the ''Forbidden Broadway'' franchise proud. Whether it's his devastating impression of Mandy Patinkin, singing an overwrought ''I Have A Little Dreidel'' -- a takeoff on Mr. Patinkin's evening of Yiddish folk music, ''Mamaloshen'' -- or his uproarious sendup of the baboon character in ''The Lion King,'' Mr. Batt always gets to the fiendish point without a trace of remorse. He makes you happy that Broadway is such an easy mark.

Although the other players are not up to his level -- the show misses the talents of versatile stalwarts like Christine Pedi and Michael McGrath, both of whom are in ''Little Me'' -- they're strong enough to pull off Mr. Alessandrini's sharpest stuff. This is true, for example, of Kristine Zbornik's parody of Julie Taymor, the director of ''The Lion King,'' demonstrating her design skills on a Lamb Chop-like sock puppet, or Edward Staudenmayer's funny impression of Alan Cumming, the ''Cabaret'' M.C., donning lederhosen and infiltrating the von Trapp family in a giddy ''Sound of Music'' interlude.

New pieces on ''Footloose'' (''Loose/Footloose/Why is our poster puce?'') and ''Ragtime'' (''The people call it 'Gagtime' '') are bulls-eyes, as are skits about the fake reporter in those ''Broadway Buzz'' commercials and a song about ''The Beauty Queen of Leenane'' called ''How Are Things in Irish Drama?'' sung to the tune of ''How are Things in Glocca Mora?''

Some jokes inevitably are going to sputter in this format, which is borne out by the all-too-easy, limp-wristed assault on ''Swan Lake'' and an off-point skewering of Ann Miller. More often, however, the retaining of some fabulous older skits, like a divine extended parody of ''Titanic'' that makes fun of its elaborate sinking set and clunky crowd-scene management, reveal how durable and renewable this resource is.

If anything holds Mr. Alessandrini back, it's the unfortunate dearth of big Broadway stars to set up for hilarious falls. That Julie Andrews, Ethel Merman and Ms. Miller remain the most prominent faces on the revue's dart board says a lot about the tarnished condition of Broadway glitter.

'Shakespeare's R & J'

This show is a relative infant among the long runs, and how long it will survive is unclear; it is scheduled to close in early January. But this simple, clever production, born in a Lower East Side storefront and transferred to the slightly larger John Houseman Studio Theater on West 42d Street, has matured greatly since reopening there last January, and it deserves the opportunity to evolve some more.

The premise was never easy to dramatize: four students at a stern boy's school, perhaps a Roman Catholic prep school, gather secretly one evening to act out all the parts in ''Romeo and Juliet.'' Joe Calarco's inspired direction of four enthusiastic young actors underlined not only the homoerotic aspects but the universally romantic elements of the play. Despite a few stagey conceits, including grafting on passages from ''A Midsummer Night's Dream,'' the adaptation worked amazingly well.

It now works even better. This has a lot to do, it seems, with the discipline that can come over time with the handling of a complex text. Of the original cast, only Greg Shamie, who plays Romeo, remains, and while the three who departed were excellent -- and Daniel J. Shore, the original Juliet, was particularly good -- their replacements are no less impressive.

Jeremy Peter Johnson, who plays the nurse, among other characters, and Matt Dill, as Mercutio, bring a level of comfort with the verse and intuition about Shakespeare that make both actors fascinating to observe in the spare surroundings of the studio theater. Caesar Samayoa's Juliet is a fully realized creation as well, especially in the play's final scenes, as he passes from infatuated teen-ager to panicked lover, and Mr. Shamie's Romeo has grown in emotional and technical command.

The action sequences are more deliberate now; in my third viewing of the play, it also seemed more wrenching. ''R & J'' may be the unlikeliest of the long-runners, which only makes it a more intriguing example of the vitality of downtown theater.

'Stomp'

Little having to do with ''Stomp'' is mild or muted, not even the admonition to the audience before it begins. ''If you're taking photographs,'' warns the voice over the public address system, ''your film will be taken away from you.''

Are they kidding? Yes, of course, flashbulbs are dangerous distractions in the Stompers' split-second choreography, but is the management really up to confiscating personal items, like guards posted outside Czech airbases during the cold war?

Chalk it up to hubris. Next week the show celebrates its 2,000th performance at the Orpheum Theater, a milestone that would excuse a certain arrogance, if not a level of creative and physical exhaustion. But such excuses aren't necessary. ''Stomp'' is as crisp and exuberant as if it had opened yesterday. The performers remain a wholly original, precision marching band of working stiffs who take everyday tools and articles and make them shake and rattle to ancient and contemporary rhythms.

The eight men and women know a lot about making noise and making you laugh, but what was most exhilarating this time around were the subtler forms of percussion coaxed from cigarette lighters, soft-drink containers and shopping bags. In any event, there's no possibility of turning down the volume on the explosive joy in the Orpheum.

'The Fantasticks'

O.K., so the current El Gallo, John Savarese, rushes through those gloriously purple monologues, the sort you might have scribbled down in your own high school notebooks and immediately ripped up because even then they made your lips pucker.

Maybe rapid deployment is the only way to handle El Gallo's poetic efforts. Still, part of the fun of ''The Fantasticks'' is joining in the pretense that all of life is a gauzy romance. It's El Gallo who spins the fantasy, for the archetypal Boy and Girl as well as for the audience, with his reminder of the kind of September ''when love was an ember about to billow.''

The timeless musical lives on in part because the atmospheric music and lyrics by Harvey Schmidt and Tom Jones contain all the warming flavors of memory. (That sound purple enough?) ''Metaphor,'' ''Soon It's Gonna Rain,'' ''Try to Remember,'' ''They Were You'': is there a more serenely nostalgic score in all of musical comedy?

It's no chore at all to listen to these songs again, especially since many of them are sung so well by the current cast members. To be sure, the show is not as fresh as it once was -- ''The Fantasticks'' is perhaps the only show in town with a permanent museum devoted to itself -- but it's surprising how well it holds up. Thanks to Eric Meyersfield and Allison Munn, portraying the Boy and Girl, the story of young love never becomes the spoonful of treacle that perpetually threatens. As their fathers, Gordon G. Jones and William Tost are delightful cranks. In their hands, ''Never Say No'' and ''Plant a Radish'' supply the evening's wryest comedy.

It could be that after the excesses of the rapidly fading era of the megamusical, tastes may swing back to the kind of old-fashioned theatrical values embodied by ''The Fantasticks.'' And if they do, is there any doubt that this show will be around to take full advantage?

'Blue Man Group'

Although this production makes ample use of a variety of gooky substances, ''Blue Man Group'' may be due for an oil change.

Audiences still emerge merrily from their 90-minute encounter with three poker-faced young men dyed shiny blue, but after seven years and 3,285 performances you can detect, at times, a drop-off in spectator reaction. The show, parts satire, hazing ritual and Grateful Dead concert, seems unchanged from the production I saw three years ago, and some of the jokes have hair on them.

This is especially true of the conceptual-art humor. For example, a bit in which each blue man expresses, through personal electronic messages, critical evaluations of a dessicated fish framed and mounted on a wall -- ''I want to forget the fish,'' ''I want to curate the fish,'' ''I want to fillet the fish'' -- drifts off like a dead fish.

Certainly ''Blue Man Group,'' which calls this production ''Tubes,'' for the sets of plastic piping on which the blue men tap out ethereal music, has a fail-safe recipe: Children will love the terrible ways Twinkies, marshmallows and Cap'n Crunch cereal are abused. But couldn't a few new spices be added?

The group prides itself on its mockery of intellectual pretension and laziness. When the blue men themselves begin to appear a little stodgy, can a full-blown parody of ''Blue Man Group'' be far behind?

'I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change'

''When a show runs this long,'' said a friend, as we took our seats for this two-year-old production at the Westside Theater, ''there has to be a reason.''

There is. The audience seemed charmed by Joe Dipietro's and Jimmy Roberts's amiable boy-meets-girl revue, a middle-of-the-road kind of sendup of dating and marriage. Never much of a challenge, the show mostly confirms what the ticket buyers already know, and that level of familiarity makes it easy to sit through.

Its humor has been compared to ''Seinfeld,'' but the more apt model is ''Love, American Style,'' the prim, dated television comedy show of the early 1970's. Mr. Dipietro and Mr. Roberts have a jolly style of their own, but they rarely take risks. The characters, played by two men and two women, are desperate types in search of love and security. The song titles alone tell you just how unadventurous the authors mean to be: ''A Stud and a Babe,'' ''Why? 'Cause I'm a Guy,'' ''Marriage Tango,'' ''Shouldn't I Be Less in Love With You?'' The sensibility is not exactly cutting edge. In ''Single Man Drought,'' the line ''I should be a lesbian!'' gets the show's biggest laugh.

The four singing actors -- Adam Grupper, Kevin Pariseau, Erin Leigh Peck and Cheryl Stern -- attack the material like marines storming the beaches. Among these thoroughgoing pros, the talented Mr. Grupper is a particular pleasure. Playing macho-nerdy everyguys, you can sense his polish, as well as the fact that he is being asked to apply only about 40 percent of his capabilities.

'Secrets Every Smart Traveler Should Know'

Another evening, another revue. This cabaret-formatted yearling, newly moved to the Ibis Theater, about the headaches and horrors of travel (and inspired by a travel guide of the same name by Wendy Perrin) has some sweet spots. The sweetest: a funny number performed by Jay Leonhart about smuggling exotic animals through customs.

All in all, though, it proves to be a fairly thin premise for a full-fledged Off Broadway show. As with ''I Love You, You're Perfect,'' you have to endure some fairly sparkless stuff -- a Noel Coward takeoff being the flattest -- to get to the occasional fizz.

Never painful, but never soaring, the experience is a lot like modern air travel. You spend a lot of time waiting on the runway.

Shows Go On and On

Here is information on the shows mentioned in the critic's notebook article on Off Broadway warhorses. Performance schedules include additional shows for the Thanksgiving weekend.